Let Yourself In
by Archer of Ecclesia
Summary: Inviting that blonde vampire in was slowly starting to look like less of a mistake and more of a... well, something good. Willow wasn't sure on the details, but it was certainly something wonderful.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Let's see if this one will ever see the light of being online. MAJOR AU, major twist on Tara. I'd hate to confuse anyone, so the timeline is – first chapter is towards the middle of the storyline, then it starts from the beginning, and, eventually, it'll all catch on. There is much more after this chapter time-wise, I promise.**

** Disclaimer: Yeah, we all know. Let's just skip it.**

0-0-0

Searing pain erupted in the witch's temple. She jumped back, swearing in surprise and hurt, feeling like she just took a jackhammer to the skull. Sans grace, she stumbled blindly to the side, falling over the edge of a tombstone and slamming into the dirt.

Almost instantly, she knew there would be blood. Not because the warm gushing presence (well, sorta), but because there was a blood-starved vampire swiping her up instantly, never mind that her only aid for the night was aiming a stake-loaded crossbow right at her.

The man working the crossbow, not to mention, was particularly easy to piss off at his 'time of the month'.

Oz instantly threw the catapult to the side, judging from the clattering noise of wood hitting ground. "Willow! Don't forget your wrist!"

If Willow Rosenberg, genius extraordinaire, hadn't been panicking, she certainly would've remembered her little battle strategy that sounded oh-so-cool before patrol started. Now, the red-headed witch was about to become a red-everything corpse. Assuming the insane vampire didn't suck her dry.

Given the look in her eye as she lifted her prey into the air by her neck, she was going to the moment she got the chance.

With a cursing glance to Willow's flailing arm, which she was having much difficulty moving through the flaring heat, the vampire started to move easily.

Even in the state of panic and the full moon, Oz controlled his temper as he rushed forward. Tibet really had stabilized him. Willow watched her only saving grace in her peripheral as he scrambled to dislodge the stake, but still found it hard to keep her eyes off the vampire.

She was absolutely beautiful. Demonic guise or not, she was still stunning. In the three seconds between Willow being lifted off the ground and hoisted over to the stable wall of the mausoleum, her focus had been almost solely on her.

That beauty stopped when she went in with a roar. She nearly clamped her mouth around Willow's neck, but her presumably broken arm functioned begrudgingly long enough for Willow to press the cross to the side of her throat.

A scream of absolute heart-wrenching horror ripped out of the vampire's mouth. Within a moment, the vampiric feeding face was gone and replaced with a kicked puppy's smashed muzzle and pleading eyes.

Of course, she was one hell of a big puppy, a Doberman still quite capable of tearing her to shreds, but strangely pitiable nonetheless.

Willow registered her chance to escape. Her feet hardly functioned beneath her and the adrenaline was wearing off, her arm beginning to throb like a bitch. Oz already had his gaze trained on the vampire in torn clothing, and was quickly honing in.

Just a moment before the wood sank into the flesh of the vampire's back to penetrate her heart, Oz flew back in similar fashion to Willow's prior reaction. A scream of _holy fuck this hurts_ and ensuing clumsiness.

He thankfully landed on the ground, the stake clattering beside him. Willow seized after it with her functioning hand, thankfully one she could actually chicken-scratch in, and threw herself at the vampire again.

_This is so much easier when Buffy is around_, she thought to herself, chasing after the vampire.

The creature had resorted to crawling. Vampires were normally powerhouses who had strength to rival a Slayer's, but this was a starving vampire. Starving vampires were uber-scary, but were also quickly deteriorating in strength and wit.

She was on the ground, her frayed clothing hanging off her gaunt figure. Though she knew she was looking death in the pointy end, she was still trying to get away.

In an instant, the blonde vampiric demon had went from terrifyingly beautiful to… almost strangely cute. It was like watching a kitten scoot away from the puddling water on the floor of a bathtub. Except, Willow thought again, kittens were cute, and, _well, this vampire is adorable, but kittens aren't deadly and the water isn't deadly and she is sorta kinda a kitten because she doesn't wanna die, even though water won't kill a cat but a stake does kill a vampire and_–

"Please!" the creature screamed as another massive headache, though significantly weaker than the first, harped at Willow's head, "I don't wanna die, I'm just so hungry!"

"Urg," Willow groaned, moving to clutch her head, but grunted in pain when her broken arm screamed back. That was really starting to smart. If she wasn't magical and blocking the pain with her magics, she'd be crying on the ground like a kiddie with a scraped knee. She hissed in pain again, torn between holding her poor head and cradling her arm in a non-offensive way and keeping a death grip on the stake.

Oz was back by Willow's side again, taking the stake from her. "Stop doing that, Will. Not the greatest encouragement," he stated, holding his head.

"It's not me, I swear!"

Almost simultaneously, they met gazes, then turned to stare at the vampire. She had cemented herself into the bark of a tree. Beneath their looks, she seemed to become part of the tree.

"I-I-I-I-I-I'll stop if I-I get to eat," she half-hissed half-whimpered. "Please, I h-haven't e-e-e-eaten in days, a-a-and just take me to a h-hospital or something."

There was a moment of silence as the couple shared an awkward look. "But d-drop the stake or your h-h-heads explode."

Oz tossed it to the side without a second glance. "You stay right there and we'll bring you something," he commanded. "Willow, hurry home and get Buffy. Tell her to come here – we're by the Croft's crypt, it looks like – and then get to the hospital. Buffy will know what to do, and as much as I'd like your help with it... Alright?"

Willow nodded.

She knew exactly what her boyfriend was referring to. Considering that Buffy was a lover of vampires, having swooned over Angel and seemingly having something for that gods-awful bleached Spike, she knew where to find blood. Of course, it was animal, but it was still able to sustain a vampire.

Before she knew what was happening, her arm was wrenched around, the magics no longer dulling the pain. She made a muffled screaming sound as long, lithe fingers closed over her mouth. "Hold still. I think we c-can work this out. I want real blood, you filthy monsters. Give it to me now and I'll fix you up and leave you alone. Got it?"

_Shiiiiiit_, Willow thought, but just nodded.

She wanted to scream as her arm was quickly shot through with healing magic, the vampire manipulating everything. Healing magic was nice and quick, but very, very painful. "Wasn't broken, you moron. Just sprained your elbow. Now hold still or I'll snap your neck."

Great. Apparently a mind-reading magical witch-vampire, too.

Her capture growled in response. Willow failed to notice that Oz was frantically and discreetly pulling out his phone and calling Buffy. She was out like a light as the vampire slowly started to drain her.

Pain tolerance wasn't something she was so great with.

0-0-0

Willow was groggy. Not the kind of caffeine-crashed after an all-night study session, but the disgusting-taste-in-her-mouth-kind. She sat up, finding herself back in her room. _Oh, my room. Just a dream_…

She startled when she glanced at her French-style doors. In blood-red letters, hopefully just spray-paint in the hue to get the point across, was written _Invite me in_. Beneath it was a smaller set of letters, added as a smart-assed remark more than likely considering the calligraphist was a freakin' vampire, was _Please_.

When her eyes went from the delicately swooping letters to the blonde creature perched on the wood railing, her heart stopped.

Of course, it was the vampire from earlier. Tall, blonde, and still as messily dressed as earlier. But now that she was holding still, filing her nails with something metallic, Willow saw so many more details.

Her eyes were a light baby-blue when they weren't the demonic-vampiric-yellow. Her lips were huge and red and looked very plump. Almost healthy. Her face, which looked anorexic before the feeding, had filled back in, with sharp cheekbones that were now a sign of beauty and not hunger. She was still in that tattered clothing, a floral-type top with dirt stains and tears. Her loose-hanging jeans had obvious signs of use from their scuffle in the graveyard. Willow didn't fail to notice she was barefoot.

So she really was looking at a poor, blood-starved, kleptomaniac vampire.

"Y'know, that was in my pocket for a reason," she said through the crack in the doors.

The vampire didn't lift her eyes as she artfully carved away her smooth nails. "Your precious little wolf didn't notice that. And you kinda passed out. Thought I'd help myself."

"Why're you here? And how? And you better answer fast, missy, 'cause my best friend is the Slayer and–"

"Shut it," the vampire snapped. Her head whipped up dangerously fast, her eyes narrowed to a threatening slit. "What the fuck is in that blood of yours? You a witch?"

Willow paused, afraid that her first real discussion on her interests in the occult would end with the nail file going from poised alarmingly in the vampire's hands to being lodged in her forehead. Sure, the vampire still wasn't allowed inside and all, but she could surely shuriken it. "I dabble."

"That's some strong dabbling. I can taste it in you."

Willow shuffled awkwardly on her feet. She didn't want to invite the vampire in, but the blonde creature was getting impatient. "You stalked me here to tell me that?"

"Nope," the vampiress responded, glancing down at her nails again, before leering back up at her. "I liked it. I want more. So invite me in."

Feeling bold, Willow opened the door a bit more. She could tell from the iron-like stench that hit her that the vampire had indeed split a small critter open for her window-art. "And why would I want to do that?"

There was a flash in the vampire's eyes. "Because I asked. Politely."

"That was neither polite nor asking," Willow stated, crossing her arms. "I was serious about Buffy being the Slayer, you know!"

"Never said you weren't. However, as much of a bitch as your mother seems and as withdrawn as your father is, the first one to step out of that threshold on their flight to Paris gets a nasty surprise. Unless, of course, you let. Me. In."

A sick feeling went straight to Willow's gut. "How did y–"

The vampire cut her off simply by tapping on her skull. "It seems you've got very loud thoughts. Oh, I wanna get home, see mummy and daddy off. Oh, Oz, I love you so much. Oh, grow up!"

Willow felt like she had been slapped. And hard. "But, but, I don't understand! No magic when you're a vampire! It's, it's a rule!"

"I could never read minds before. And the little headache thing is a trade secret," the vampire replied, lifting up a corner of her mouth in a wicked grin, gleaming eyes and all. "Seems I might have a spark leftover from when before I sacrificed myself to the black arts."

She found herself shifting in her position against the door.

For some reason, she felt like she could talk to this nameless face for hours and not once get bored. Hell, she could just watch the subtle, bored movements play across the vampire's features and not be bored herself. "Why do that?"

"Because, you little priss, not everything's a fairytale," the vampire spat. "My dad was a drunken bastard. My brother was a slob, and a greedy pig. Not to mention, some of my cousins… anyway, my mom, she led me to magic. After she died, my family really started to suck."

Willow looked at the ground, shameful. She nodded. "I didn't know, I'm so sorry… but that's no reason for… never mind."

"I don't want your pity or your opinions. I want food, dammit."

"Come in," Willow said weakly. "Ms…?"

"Tara."

"Tara. Don't see why I called you a miss. Or let you in in the first place. Might've been this little–!" Willow twirled around, about to jam the stake into the vampire's heart, before a strong hand gripped her sprained arm – which had been professionally wrapped at the hospital to protect it – and squeezed.

Willow grit her teeth in pain, about to scream. She bit it back, dropping the stake. "I don't know why you did that," the vamp – no, Tara, – said in response to her rather stupid attempt.

She kicked the piece of wood beneath the bed. Willow felt a rush of sick, hot worry in her stomach. Like she had a funnel stuffed in her throat and someone poured steaming acid down it. "I-I'm sorry!"

"Sure you are," Tara mumbled to herself, jerking the redhead's head back by her hair. Her ivory throat exposed, Willow felt herself go dizzy all over again. She felt her knees turn to jelly, and hopefully she could collapse into the darkness all over again, but the pain didn't bring her a sweet blackout again.

Willow hissed as the sharp teeth dug into her neck again. She felt an unbelievable sensation as Tara began to suckle the blood out of the indents, slowly at first, then frantically with a hunger Willow had never seen before.

Had the woman been an actual woman and not a demon, she'd just assume it was a crazing hunger. "Why… am I let you doing this?"

Tara growled, not talking until Willow went limp in her arms, on the verge of losing way too much blood in one night. "Because you know you like it."

Willow shook her head. "No. That's so wrong."

"Gimme a break, sweetheart," she scoffed. Willow just about flew out of Tara's strong grasp when something cold, wet and flexible began to work over the wound. "Hey! Tongue! No!"

"Or I could let you bleed out and die. There's plenty of witches around here." Tara squinted her eyes. "Amelia."

"Amy," Willow corrected, before she caught her breath. She had just corrected a telepathic vampire on her insight. And she knew just what Tara was talking about. "And you won't get too far with her. I was thinking that she's kinda–"

"Dead? Oops," the vampire stated to herself. A flash of something crossed her features. But it was nothing. Vampires felt emotion. And she had just stated that something was dead, and…

"What the hell!" Willow screeched, looking out at what she had just registered on the porch. "You killed her, you, you psychopath!"

Willow scrambled over to the doors, staring at the rodent that had provided the paint for Tara's canvas. "Oh, you poor little rat!... wait, Amy's brown. This thing is gray."

Tara raised an eyebrow from her perch on Willow's bed, where she had made herself very comfortable. She glanced casually over at the rat cage, where Amy had been moved back to so Willow wouldn't have to run up to the campus every day to feed her.

Amy regarded the two women with liquid black eyes. She winked one.

In an instant, the crushed corpse was back on the porch, Willow spazzing. She frantically wiped her hands on her jeans, screaming 'Ew!' in quick sucessions. "Um, stay right there, I mean it! Touch anything and, and, actually, touch everything! I've got holy water on half the shit in here, dead-ass!"

Tara watched the teenager as she bounced up and ran for the bathroom. She blinked once, before going back to staring at the rat. "So you're a witch, huh? Red really was lying about the friends."

She heard Willow's approach, but was still somewhat startled at her tone. "She's into Hecate."

The vampire nodded. "Explains everything. 'Course, if I had my magic, I'd snap her back in a second."

_Yeah, sure you would, you skank_, Tara heard that voice pipe in her head. At least, she'd believe that, and wouldn't think to think that Tara could just read people. "I can hear you."

"Well, can you blame me? You've got boobs, and they're hanging out, and and, wow, if I can tell you anything, vampires love leather and I can easily see you in–"

Willow seemed to see where that was leading and shut her mouth. Tara smirked. "Like what you're thinking about, huh?"

She shook her head. There was a noticeable tinge in her cheeks. _Ooh, what fun this is gonna be. So long as I keep away from that little nagging long enough_.

She knew just what the nagging was. Magic, as delicious as it was in the blood, had a tendency to spark false emotion. Since she was a witch, she still had the traces, the telepathy was just the temporary effect of sharing magics, yadda yadda yadda.

The vampire rolled her eyes, reclining on the bed. She stared at the ceiling, which was peppered with light-green Glo-in-the-Dark stars. They were arranged just like they'd be in the real sky. _Moose Getting a Sponge Bath_, she thought to herself, cocking her head.

"They were for an astronomy test I had to take… and I guess I just liked falling asleep to them up there," the witch stated.

"I didn't ask."

"But that's what you were thinking of asking."

Tara was silent.

"How long did it take to learn?" Willow asked, standing awkwardly, looking for somewhere to sit. She opted with leaning against her headboard, sitting Indian style.

"No idea what you're talking about."

Willow pointed to the macabre artwork. "Y'know… the blood, painty-thingy. That I'd really like for you to clean off."

Tara shook her head. A vampire for all of three months and she knew more than any human possibly could. Of course, it was easier with the eavesdropping-allowing hearing, which she had put to use by the Rosenberg's window. Not that her parents were ever going to know they had possibly convinced her daughter into letting a killer into the house, but still. "Practice. If I hadn't _practiced _every single art I have, I would've starved ages ago."

Willow nodded like she was actively engaged in the conversation. "Arts?" she asked in a tone that hinted she was too scared to ask, but too curious not to.

A smile worked its way onto Tara's face. It was the one that no human so far could resist. "Yeah. Like painting backwards. Or convincing some cutie into the woods. Or keeping someone alive when I feed so I can come back later and get some of that delicious blood. And, not to mention, stalking people on the streets. You'd never believe how easy it is to pull someone into an alleyway. Not really my thing, but it's still _depressingly_ easy."

She'd never do that, soulless or not. There were some things that even vampirism couldn't blot the fear out of. Or a tempered hate.

For a moment, another long silence dragged out. Tara sat there, wondering what she was supposed to do. Her sleazy motel building was a half-hour walk away, and the sun would be out in no time.

But she wanted to sit there all night with the witch. She was quietly tapping her fingers against her hip as she studied her star chart, seemingly as transfixed as Tara would've been before the demon killed her.

_I could always tell her something to get the adrenaline pumping. Yum, adrenaline. Like how I supposedly snuck back into my home – which I've been welcomed into from the start, there's that question avoided – and gutted everyone. Yeah, my brother had his head fed into the industrial fan in the basement… how my dad just bawled like a little bitch… or I could always go for some pity points too. Aw, this poor little brat won't know jack about vampires, of course she'd buy anything. Always could go for the innocent snuggle route. Yeah, they _always _fall for that_.

Willow was staring at Tara as she came out of her thoughts. "Hey? You alright?"

"I was thinking, okay?" Tara spat, feeling awful as she read the startled look on the human's face. Not so much that she had felt bad, but she had recognized that she should've felt bad. "What?"

"I, uh, I was wanting to know why you're not, you know, heading home? Because it's getting kinda late, well early in the layman's human terms and all, I mean it's like four. Is it just me or does time fly when you're anticipating getting torn to shreds? Not that I don't trust you or anything, it's just your species has a tendency to suck all the blood they can get, and you've already fed twice and I'm not dead or anything unless I came back like Buffy did after the Master drowned her and–"

Tara rolled her eyes, flopping backwards and fanning herself out on the bed. She was very aware that Willow had stopped her babbling and was expecting a response, but she was going to take a hint one way or another. "Too far."

"I uninvite you!" Willow half-commanded, half-whimpered.

Another moment of silence slunk out like a snake. "Not that simple, sweetheart."

Willow started to fidget on the bed before she hopped off. "It's all yours! I think I'll just wait until my parents leave. I'll crash on the couch. I mean, it's not like it isn't summer break or anything, and even if it wasn't, it's Saturday tomorrow, well, today technically, but I'm a loser who hasn't even made second base with her boyfriend she's starting to feel less awesome about and can't sneak into a club because I'm too scared that they'll put it on my permanent record–"

Tara hurled a pillow at Willow. She didn't underestimate her strength, but still found it amusing when it knocked the poor girl down.

"Alright! Remind me no pillow fights with you! I get it, I'll stop rambling, it's just your shirt's been riding down for the past ten minutes and it's really distracting and I really don't want to say anything and shit! I just gave myself away! Okay, I'm done, I'll be in the shower if you need me!"

With that, Willow spun around and slammed the door to her bedroom behind her. Another door flew open and was quickly locked behind her.

She was no longer interested when the sound of running water hit her ears. Tara could tell just where the bathroom was, and if the redhead took a bit too long relieving herself, she'd just go in there and help her finish up.

But during the meantime, Tara sat back and traced the stars on her ceiling. _And there's Mom's favorite. Mine too. 'Course, now that I'm a _fucking vampire_ I'm not supposed to care about this cutesy shit_.

Fifteen minutes passed before Willow finally emerged from the bathroom, looking chilled. A fuzzy robe covered in cartoon animals blocked any view and prevented any naughty thoughts on Tara's side. Considering the girl looked like a seven-year-old, she'd feel less like a horny creature of the night and more like a pedophile.

Not that vampires didn't get into that. But that was just a bit far in Tara's opinion.

"You've got a bear on your ass," Tara observed.

Willow spun around, clutching her pajamas to her chest. "Jeez, I forgot you were in here! You freaky vampires and your stealth! And perversity! I don't think I can wear this thing ever again!"

Tara peered into the closet that Willow had cracked open. "Has anyone ever told you that it looked like your mother took your clothes from kindergarten and super-sized them?"

"Nope. I pick out all my own clothing, my parents just throw the money at me. They're always too busy to do anything, so I don't see why I can't make a darned fool of myself while I'm at it."

"Aw, don't kick yourself for it. Think about it this way, now I'm positive that your parents hate you. And they'd never notice if you went missing," Tara stated. She expected for the girl to turn around and sob about how right she was.

Instead, she got a faceful of burning, searing liquid. She screeched, stumbling backward, trying to wipe the holy water from her eyes as she heard the witch close in on her.

0-0-0

**A/N: And I think I'll end it there! Review, stalk the fanfic, let me know I'm not a horrible person, anything!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: You know, I've had this ready since I posted the first chapter. Just had to wonder if anyone would get antsy for this :D.**

** I'm aging Tara to be about nineteen. You know, Will's senior year of high school and all, Tara's roughly a year older…**

** Hey, guess what! Parallels with Spike's backstory! Spot 'em if you can! Also, what may seem to be prejudice towards religion; I just see the Maclay family like zealots. I mean, come on. It may seem offensive, but I do not pick on any religion, especially my own :D!**

**So, embarrassing update. I was halfway through this chapter and I'm like SHIT WRONG POINT ON THE TIMELINE. Anywayyy, in case you don't read memo's unless there's caps lock, this is the beginning of the story. Y'know, poor Tawa all stuck at home wif mean scawy daddy.**

0-0-0

_Yeah, I've always been bad_, Tara thought to herself as she looked in on the slumbering redhead in the house. _Tell her I smoke. Drink. Go to raves and drain chicks in the bathroom. Haha, plot twist, this was all while I was still human. Heh, wonder if she'll get the dirty jokes_.

0-0-0

Tara's breath was rapid. And almost making her chest explode from both its absence and its presence. She couldn't help it, what was happening was terrifying. All to a poor nine-year-old.

"Oh, relax," the woman behind her whispered soothingly in her ear. "Tara, sweetie, you're fine. See? Oh, I promise, it all comes out. Okay? We don't have to try again."

She took in another whimpering breath, biting back tears. "Okay, mommy."

Mrs. Maclay, known more to the world as Macy Maclay, sat down behind her bawling daughter and pulled her into her lap. "Relax. Wood can't hurt you, sweetie. It's nothing but nature. Okay? I know it hurts now. Here, gimme your poor little finger."

Little Tara squirmed as the splinter was removed with a careful pair of tweezers. "There. You want me to kiss it better?"

Tara nodded. "Tank you, mammy," she said, sounding as innocent as ever. That damned speech impediment had always been there. It just developed into a stutter around seventeen. Whenever that horrible night was, anyway.

Macy stood, picking up her daughter – a mirror image of herself, grace, womanly, with sleek, flowing hair and baby-blue eyes – and spun her around the room. It was filled with the little that Macy managed to salvage for her daughter. Their father controlled everything, but Macy still took opportunities like pennies that rolled beneath the table as they came. Over time, the change manifested into secondhand stuffed animals, posters of kittens and stickers of butterflies pasted around the room, and color pages artfully scribbled in for a nine-year-old.

Tara giggled, the splinter received from her hand-carved wooden pull-ducky completely forgotten.

"Macy! You get down here!" her father shouted.

The eldest Maclay paled instantly, but didn't let her daughter see. So far, her daughter was completely innocent. She would fight like a true Amazon to keep it that was as long as possible. So she swirled once more, gently swinging her daughter onto the bed. "Goodnight, sweetie. Sweet dreams."

"Ni'night, mammy," Tara said, cuddling into her pillows.

0-0-0

"Fucking bastard," Tara mumbled to herself, watching as the redhead slowly began to twitch in her sleep.

0-0-0

Tara had a sweet, innocent life growing up. She'd always been shy around new people, but around her mother, she was a precious little life. Her life was amazing as she blossomed into a teenager.

Everything on the carnival truck cartwheeled into an explosive fire at fifteen.

She came home a little later than usual from study group. It was around five in the afternoon. Normally, on Wednesdays, she came home around six, because she tutored some students behind in Biology and English. That fateful day, study group was dismissed because there was a storm coming to New Jersey that wouldn't have been uncommon in the hurricane season.

Tara wasn't worried, of course. She hurried home, hoping to avoid getting wet. Normally, she loved nature, but it was deep into the fall and she would've frozen to death in a ditch if she went that route.

She didn't knock. She just quietly slipped inside.

That was the first time he hit her. Square across the face, with the television remote. It made a smacking sound, then a strange pop as her jaw was nearly dislocated. She screamed in muted pain, clutching at the bone and staring at her mother's bruised body on the floor.

"You bitches," the man would say, "You screw everything up. I come home for peace and quiet and I find your mother doing this, this…"

Mr. Maclay paused as he searched for the words, like his pain of confusion exceeded his daughter's fresh bruise and his wife's broken hip. "This thing! Sitting there, promoting sin like it's acceptable!"

"Addy," she garbled, still holding the bruise, which only intensified her impediment, "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong!" he screamed. "Your mother! Supporting _them_ like they're human!"

Her father was drunk. Even later, much later, when her teeth went sharp and her face went lumpy, she had no idea what he was so pissed about. She really didn't care either.

That night, she went to bed holding her pillow, thinking about her mother who was rushed to the hospital. Oh, doctor, she fell down the stairs. I brought her here as quickly as possible.

She and Donny were the only people in the house. Of course, it couldn't possibly get worse, but it did.

Donny had a talking-to with his dad. He was to keep Tara in line while he suckered the doctors and had the insurance cover it all with a lawsuit against such-and-such for screwing everything up. That meant, if he wanted something done, it would get done, no questions asked.

"Hey Tara! Get in here!"

She heard the shouting coming from downstairs. She found him at the kitchen table, finishing his dinner while he looked over his homework. Failing Algebra II for the second time. Hardly scraping by in English. Dropping out of his history class to replace it with a bunny class.

"Don?" she asked. Her face was starting to swell painfully.

He was hunched over his textbook. "Gotta do my homework or I'm not allowed to got to Prom. Got me a nice little piece'a work. Do the dishes for me."

Tara glanced over at his dirtied plate. Her dad had _forced _her mom to make Donny a 'simple steak dinner' before they left. Of course, Tara wasn't offered anything. She thought about that. She thought nothing of it as she rinsed the plate off in the sink, quickly scrubbing it clean and placing it on the drying towel.

"Watch it, fatass," he grumbled as she bumped into the foldable table, causing it to sway.

She almost froze up inside, if it weren't for the fact she'd heard it before. Big woman, big hips, but a beautiful soul, her mother would say. And then she'd say that Tara was beautiful because of it.

But she'd never heard it from family before.

For the next few nights, she'd go into the bathroom and really look at herself in the mirror. After a while, she would give up and shrug it off. But she'd be back the next night, still squinting at her reflection.

One day, without thinking about it, she rushed to the bathroom before the quarter-mile walk to school. She pulled up the neck of her long-sleeved sweater, tugging it down around the edges. She ran out without thinking much about the entire process.

In school, she'd duck her head and walk on by. She slowly began to hear the snickers and see the points. She'd never done anything too stupid, so she didn't see why they'd poke fun at her. Other than the stumbling in gym class. Or tripping over the stairs. Or tripping over her own feet and scattering her papers everywhere. And then she would slowly notice how no one stopped to help her.

It stayed that way for quite a while. She'd go home, occasionally it hit, more closely together as time went on. It got to the point where she would always wear long sleeves and pull them down over her wrists. When she'd always have her head downward, her long hair covering her eyes.

Age sixteen rolled around. The beatings weren't in drunken fits but the terrible sobriety between. Apologies weren't given anymore unless bones were broken. Still, Macy and Tara were as close as possible.

Tara wasn't expecting much change in her junior year. She'd have classes, excel in them, go home, and get hit. She'd trace the stars in the sky with her fingers, looking for new shapes to map out. During the day, she'd be bored but busy, cleaning around the house where her mother's injuries made it impossible to function. Like handling heavy loads of laundry or cleaning the broken glass from beneath the couch.

Naturally, that cycle wouldn't have been broken without outside forces. Her mother introduced her to Wicca around the time she met her game-changer midway through junior year. She'd just turned seventeen in October.

Everyone was in costumes on her birthday, since school let out for fall break two weeks before Halloween. Tara loved that schedule. It gave only three days for Thanksgiving, which meant less family time.

She was heading to English class, where she would quietly do her work before heading to lunch, returning a half-hour later to finish her work.

Had her teacher not decided in spontaneity to pair everyone up to explain the reasoning behind their costume, if they had any, and if not, the studies about Samhain and the cultural impact it had on the world.

Tara hated group assignments. Mostly because her class was full of haughty jerks, but also because her speech was getting worse.

"So, what are you?" a voice asked. She mentally cringed, risking a glance from her graffiti-covered desk to the voice's face. He was a tall kid. Very tall. She felt small for the first time in her life and began to slink down in her chair. "Alright, don't answer."

"Sorry," she whispered.

There was an uncomfortable pause as people around the room chattered about how the costume was just to pick up some cute stranger at a club later on. She tried to block out all the noise and work up the courage to do her assignment, but the stare she was receiving from the tall kid weren't to encouraging.

_Oh, no_, she thought the moment as realization flashed over her partner's features.

"You're that Maclay girl, aren't you?" he asked, his southern twang sounding disgustingly familiar.

She nodded. "You're Donny's friend," she said in a voice that didn't pass a whisper. "Evan."

Evan was like her father's own son. He was just as misbehaved as Donny, but still got away with whatever he wanted on the Maclay's farm. He was raised in Alabama before being sent to New Jersey to a foster family for breaking his sister's arm.

Yep, just like Donny.

Unlike Donny, however, he was a sophomore that had been held back twice.

"So, do you think Donny would mind if I came over tonight?" he asked.

_No_, she shook her head.

She already dreaded the coming night. The two boys pissing around and Tara getting screamed at for some reason or the other.

Dolefully, she picked up her pencil and began to make up a story as why she was dressing as a never-heard-of musical artist and tried to clear her mind.

0-0-0

Oddly enough, that night was the best thing that ever happened to her.

It was horrible to begin with, since she was already behind on the assignment for her AP course that, if passed, would land her with a scholarship and a ticked out of hell, but it ended miraculously.

Evan blew in the door around six, toting an insane amount of alcohol. As if her dad didn't know about Donny's stash hidden in the cellar. He and Donny proceeded to get trashed. Well, Donny was trashed, but Evan stayed as soberly-insane as ever.

Tara had her door shut, and since her father had taken out the doorknob to prevent her from doing 'ungodly, unsupervised things', had a door-stopper wedged beneath it. She was studiously flipping through her textbook, occasionally passing her glance over bold-faced text.

A draft blew in through the cracked window. She shivered, shrugging her jacket on over her floral top.

She tried to go back to reading contently, but the room was getting even colder. Tara sighed, pushing away from her desk. She slammed the window shut, thinking the latch without a second thought.

When she turned back for her desk, she jumped out of her skin. Evan was perched on the desk, his gaze flittering around the room. There was a picture of her mother on the wall, the one of her two weeks before she was put into a coma, three before she passed. A month ago.

"That your mommy, Tara?" he asked, his voice mocking.

She just stared. She didn't notice she was backing up until the wall startled her. "Um… s-s-she was. Is."

Evan seemed to take in the box beneath Tara's bed. She swore that she had it stashed so far that no mortal man's sight could find it without rifling through discarded clothes and dust bunnies.

He dove for it at the same time she did. She went flying backwards when he slammed into her, only for him to tear the box open with disappointment. "Aw, man. Thought this's where'd he'd keep 'at gun."

Tara watched in horror as he pulled a pendulum on a long silver chain from the box. Everything in there was her mother's. They were sacred, expensive witchcraft ingredients. She knew she was screwed over.

"So. A witch, just like your momma. You wiccans, you're all a bunch'a whores." Tara ducked her head. "You wouldn't know real power from cheatin'."

"H-h-how is m-m-m-magic cheating?" Tara asked, offended at his blunt remark.

"Real power is some'pin you otta suffer for."

She was about to blast him with a hex, if her speed coordinated, when she was grabbed by the throat. His face was gone, replaced with disease. Long teeth, pretty as a shark's in need of braces. Yellow eyes. Lots of bumps. His hand muffled her scream.

He talked to himself as he went to work. "Hmmm… what I otta do with you? Real hungry, but lemme tell you. I'm real in the mood for some real woman."

Her face exploded into a violent red at his intentions. Of course, he wouldn't know. No one in her family knew, except for her mother, even though she never really told her. He bit into her, draining her with ease. She let out a gasp of pain and went weak in the knees.

She crumpled to the floor as a mass of useless limbs and throbbing veins. He shrugged off his shirt, dragged his nails across his chest, and pulled her mouth to the wound.

The liquid invading her mouth was tepid. She knew it was blood, but it was tainted. Like rusted iron. She tried to spit out and turn away, but after a minute of the feeding, there was a spark.

Tara took one precautionary nip with her teeth, only for him to shout in surprise.

Evan jumped back, staring at her. "Wow. Already changed, huh? Must've been that magic-stuff. Now why don't ya do yourself an' me a favor–?"

The wall shook as he hit it. Tara, disgusted at herself, but more with Evan, ripped a post from her bedframe.

Seventeen years of hell was pent up inside her. All those unanswered whispers. All those lies. She wasn't on some righteous vengeance quest – she was fucking pissed. That's all there was to it. The post hit Evan's head with a crunching noise. He fell over to the side, blocking his head and neck.

It smacked down into his side. It cracked his ribs. Then his pelvis. She didn't know at that point that it would take one hell of a hitting arm to break anything of a vampire's, and was even less aware at just how strong a creature she had turned into. He was bleeding profusely from the section of skull she caved in. After seven blows, that battering ram turned into a massive knife, jabbing into his writhing body. "Oh, it's just a splinter, you fucking baby!"

By sheer luck, she staked him. His body turned to dust in front of her eyes, the skeleton lingering for a spilt-second. She stared at the wood in her hand, then chucked it to the side.

Tara barreled downstairs, looking for wherever in the hell her brother was. His entire posse was gathered around the television, watching a wrestling tournament. But, of course, the one teenager she wanted to strangle was elsewhere.

"Where's Donny?" she asked, her voice placid. It was the first time she had been able to speak without her voice breaking. From beside the stairs, she was right beside the forty-two inch flatscreen that her father could afford a week ago, even though he couldn't pay for life-support that was traditionally half the price.

It crashed to the ground when she got no response. "Where. Is. Donny?"

They stared at her like she was insane.

Cousin Mark stood up, a Corona in his hands. "What the hell're you doin', woman? Get back upstairs and get somethin' to clean up yer mess!" That damned accent rang out. Most of the Maclays grew up in the Deep South. Except her mother. Her damn mother, who her fucking family killed.

She tore a section of railing from the staircase behind her. It sailed over Mark's head, only to strike another one of the men in the forehead, leaving a gaping gash.

Within two minutes, they were all bleeding on the carpet. There was one left, a whimpering girlfriend of one of the friends. "You might wanna run, sweetheart."

She bolted.

Tara gorged on the bleeding, immobilized teenagers. Some were still alive. Some were so shit-faced she could taste the beer in their bloodstream.

Before Donny and her father arrived from the store, where they were buying more booze, she was gone.

0-0-0

**A/N: Yep, I'm done for now. R&R, please.**


	3. Chapter 3

** A/N: Ughhh I'm a horrible person. Forgot one minor detail – I sped Will/Oz up a bit, making it so he already cheated with Veruca and has already returned for Tibet. Just makes the plot a bit more angsty, because now there's a testy werewolf with the vamp 24/7. Buuut Willow won't be in for a little bit more. Could be another chapter, could be another seven.**

** Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or any other reference I make.**

0-0-0

Tara huffed indignantly. Her tail was sore as hell. Bark was chipping off and digging into her palms. She wasn't positive, but there may have been a swarm of ants starting to saw off her skin and march it back down the tree she was perched in.

The whole sunlight thing was just a myth to her, at first. It then turned into a crash and burn test trial that left her lodged in the minimal shade of a spanning willow tree. And she had been sitting there for quite a while. She would be worried about attracting stares, but her only company was a bustling squirrel. There was originally two, but she got hungry and one got too close.

She sighed, shifting in her position for the umpteenth time since the sun had almost baked her like a strangely-shaped pancake. The branches and canopy of leaves gave her a fair amount of shade, but she was still cooking.

Craning her neck, Tara glanced at the sun. Damn, that thing moved slowly. Without thinking about it, she carefully reclined in the stretching branches and rested her head in a forked pathway of branch.

Her eyes were closed and time passed, but no sleep came.

Instead, it was a strange state of jerking away from sunlight and twitching her nose irately. Tara was exhausted, and she wanted nothing more than to find somewhere pitch as black and collapse, but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

The sun still had a good five hours in the sky.

Of course, this had to begin in the dead of summer. Why couldn't she become all vampy and empowered in the fall? It always rained then. Or in the winter, when the sun was as existent as a blood buffet.

For a moment, time seemed to still.

Tara cracked an eye open, staring at the sky through the assortment of green curtains. Through the fauna, she barely made out a massive, blackening cloud blotching out the sun. She smirked to herself, kicking out of the tree and onto the ground. It was easily twenty feet below, but she had recently discovered that her insane power wasn't just fueled when she was pissed. It was a constant flow of energy that made her look forward to something since her mother passed.

What she was looking for was nothing but finding another relative scattered across the country to explode on, but that was still a nice mercy in the mix. She began to follow the road again. She had been resting in a willow along a golf course, and it was guaranteed that a few old men spied her form in the tree, but she was either out cold or too uncaring to hear their remarks.

If she was lucky, she was five miles from her home. She'd have to work something out, like hitching a ride in a truck's covered trailer or sleeping during the sunlight. But it looked like the overcast sky was giving her ample time to walk another half-mile or so before she'd have to duck and cover again.

Once night rolled around, she could easily come up with some gimmick to hitch a ride, drain the driver once she went far enough, and keep going. Dinner and transportation, maybe even a show. Of course, she could always risk the possibility of stealing a car. It wasn't like a car wreck could kill a vampire… well, she wasn't too sure of that yet, but she felt like she could waltz back to the golfing resort and be bludgeoned with clubs and not feel a thing.

Alas, she was a new, fledgling vampire, and the night was so young it was still enveloped in the womb of clouds. Her ambitions could easily be fulfilled. All she had to do was keep walking.

0-0-0

She had heard whispers of massive gathering places for anything magical. A safe haven were humans were so outnumbered that if they rebelled, the creatures who didn't even reach a quarter of the mortal status quo could squash them.

Hellmouths.

After some careful thinking, Tara decided to swipe a travel map from a local bookstore, along with an ink pen that gave the most beautiful flowing handwriting, she began to mark everything up.

Tara was from a small-town New Jersey state. She highlighted it on the map. Currently, she was in Trenton. She had already traveled thirty miles in the first two nights, with the aid of a tasty brunette. Sitting in the coffee shop next door and attracting stares that she was going to grow accustomed to, Tara marked up the map.

The duh-thing to do would be to head to Salem. Even though she only scoured online Wicca rooms, Salem was a constant. But she wasn't for sure that was a vampire thing as much as a witch thing. She went a half-centimeter north of Boston and placed a question mark.

Another option was Cleveland. Ohio. Nope, too much family. One by one, paranormal areas were blown off the map. No St. Augustine, no Villisca, no strange town on a hill that had no name and only appeared in the mists along a fractured road.

Finally, she sat staring at California.

Completely across the country, a bitching overload of sunshine and snobs, but, strangely, alluring. Tara's signature wicked smirk crossed her features for the first time. She circled the small town, or its relative location since it would be on no mortal's map, and set out once again.

_Sunnydale. What a nice name_, Tara mused to herself, stepping out of the coffee shop. The burglar alarm shrilly went off again as she pushed the smashed glass door open. She rolled her eyes as someone came up to her, gesticulating at the shop with heavy emphasis on the 'Closed' sign.

She just started to walk again.

0-0-0

A month later, Tara had finally settled in to the vampiric lifestyle. She was able to sleep during the day, normally in abandoned barns along the old country roads she took. She fed two or three times a week. And hell if she wasn't getting good at swaggering her way into homes were she could gorge.

By hitching rides and stealing the occasional car (she wasn't too great at driving, but a car wrapped around a tree every now and again didn't kill her) she had advanced all the way to Kentucky.

The backroads were by far the creepiest thing she had ever seen. Especially at night.

If she wasn't a vampire, she'd cower and hide.

Vampires weren't even the usual patron on the road. They were demons, of course, but they didn't seem really nice.

Tara was particularly comfortable in an old farmhouse a few miles outside of Frankfort. That was the first night she accidentally intruded on a group of vampires hiding out. And it was her first opportunity at making some kind of friend.

The chipping brown door was massive, but the only resistance she met was of the rusted track it rolled on. The stench of blood hit her the moment she opened the door and her stomach lurched. It occurred to her she hadn't eaten in nearly three days. "H-hello?" she asked, creeping forward.

Even with sight three-fold of a human's, Tara struggled to make out the interior of the barn. Piles of something huge and scraggly, probably hay, were stacked against the walls. She blinked and scrubbed at her eyes, a ring of figures coming into focus in the center of the room. Of course she jumped out of her skin when the eyes flashed a glowing yellow. "Who'sere?"

"Someone who can kick your ass," she replied snarkily, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You sound pretty sure of yourself, kid. Sure you ain't lost?"

Tara growled. "Pretty damn sure."

One of the figures, his eyes glowing, rose. His friends quickly joined him.

He slowly melded into focus. Tara was expecting a vamp dressed in leather, like the ones she'd seen in the big cities. But this thing was stereotypical beyond the laughing point. Dressed in a cowboy outfit, long jeans covered in leather slacks, a tanned jacket with a plaid undershirt, the crooked, wide-brimmed felt hat, and the boots with the spurs… his five-o-clock shadow had jellying blood clinging to it.

She took in the scent again, her head reeling. Her knees went weak and she almost resorted to falling to her knees and begging.

"What's yer poison, sweetheart?" he asked.

They might have believed she was human. She didn't blame them. After all, she was so hungry she couldn't fight either way. "Anything strong."

The cowboy-vamp regarded her with a leer. "I tell ya what. You look pretty hungry, girlie. Why don't you come in here and stay a night or two?"

Tara froze up inside, looking at all the people in the room. Her eyes had adapted quite nicely, and she could easily take in farm equipment splattered with bodily fluids. A redneck torture chamber. "Depends. Does everyone get out alive?"

He laughed. "Pretty sure we're already dead as doornails, sweetheart."

Tara's defense sank. Her shoulders went slack and she slowly walked inside, going to greet the kindly man. She reached out her long, lithe fingers and shook with the cowboy. "I'll just be here for the day."

"No need to rush yerself, sweetheart," he said, his backroads accent not just a convincing hoax. "Can we have a name?"

"I'd hate to let you grow attached," Tara said, trying to veer off topic. "But it's Tara."

"Well, Tara, I'm Henry. And we're like a little vampire's motel. Stay a night, the fee's real cheap. Food's real shitty, but it's included with the room."

She blew out another breath. That really was a habit she needed to break. It made her seem mortal. "What is it you want?"

Henry cocked his head to the side. "We're a bit shunned by normal vamps, y'know. We've got ourselves a hankering for inter-feeding. You could call it an addiction."

Tara wanted to tense up again, but stopped herself. "Alright. I get a knife and I take care of it myself," she said. And she felt like explaining herself. "I've got this thing about being touched."

The other vampires had gone back to milling around the room. "Don't matter to me," Henry said, waving his hand. "I'll find ya something."

Later, Tara was rubbing at the painful slits running the length of her arm. She wouldn't bleed out, of course, but it was still hurting. She handed the knife back to Henry, but not before swiping the blood off the blade. She carefully lifted the rusted makeshift blood bag off the ground, handing the milk pail to Henry. "Thank you, milady. Need something for those cuts?"

Tara shrugged. "I'm fine. No need to waste anything."

Henry smirked humorlessly. "You won't be a'wastin' nothing, Tara. Now we've got ourselves a human or two in the trap. Pick one."

"How much you want me to save?" Tara asked, her demonic face surfacing.

Henry smirked, this time with real humor. "Drain 'em dry. Turn 'em if you want."

Tara's stomach, and her throat, let out a growl. She clambered down the creaking stairs from the loft, moving faster than necessary. There was an iron cage in the corner of the room, which held two semi-conscious people. She growled contently on seeing the woman's head, lolled to the side, displaying neck and cleavage.

"Hey!" she shouted, making the two lurch from their sleep. "Get up."

She quickly did as she was told, her buddy moving too. "Not you, meatbag," Tara hissed, curling her lip at the man and the idea of feeding from him. He looked like he wanted to seat himself, but wrapped a firm hand around the girl's wrist.

"You stay away from her, you monster."

Tara's face went bumpy in a moment. The man clambered back, but stood still. She ripped the door open, yanking the girl up by the wrist. She stumbled clumsily as Tara shuttered the lock again, leaving the man looking scared as a bitch.

Slowly, she dragged the woman for the barn door. The other vampires were grinning wickedly, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "You want some privacy or anything?" she asked nonchalantly.

If Tara noticed that the girl was being dragged along, her feet and butt skidding against the muddy ground, she didn't care. She did notice when her long nails dug into her wrist.

"Hey!" Tara snapped, lifting her arm up and sending the girl to the ground. "What's your deal?"

"Don't kill me!" the girl sobbed.

Tara lifted the girl by the collar and bumped their foreheads together. "Hey, it's about my problems now. No one else's."

She punctuated her statement by starting to feed, right in the middle of the flat forested land. The girl's screams were weak and gurgled, but Tara only growled and tore at the skin in her neck, lapping at the first real meal she'd had in ages. "It's a shame," Tara said, dropping the limp body to the ground. "You could've made the cutest girlfriend."

With that, she decided to drag the corpse back to the barnyard. She said one last thanks to Henry (_No, thank you. That vamp blood's the hardest thing to find_) before crashing back onto a hay pile.

Tara slept all through the day and began as soon as evening started to streak the skies. The sunlight was still burning and the other vampires were fast asleep, but she could stay in the shadows until the sun finally disappeared.

Before leaving, Tara gave one last saddened look over her shoulder. Those vampires, six of whom were nameless and the other was simply Henry, held the closest connection she had ever felt to kinship. She frowned, her lip poking out, before sealing the barn door.

Without thinking about it, she heard the oncoming of a slow-moving vehicle and moved for the road. She stood in the dead center along the dotted yellow lines, grinning as the driver swerved to a tree to avoid her. Tara pulled the driver and her boyfriend from the tangled wreck, depositing them in the cage.

She _was_ a _welcomed_ guest, so the least she could do was leave a real thank-you gift.

0-0-0

**A/N: Yep, short chapter. After a week. I'm a bitch. I'll try to pledge to weekly updates, but unless I see people are really interested, I might not bother… If you catch the hint.**

** Reviews are welcomed!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Fourth chapter, yay. I found that Tara without Willow can be very boring. That's why I decided to quit torturing my readers and expedite the plot. Happy :D?**

** For those of you who don't know, I've got another Willara fanfiction featuring vampirism. It's **_**The Witch**_**, but it's vamp Willow. I find vamp Tara to be much more fun, actually.**

0-0-0

Time passed. Tara wound up in Sunnydale much later, but time was no longer a factor to her. To a human, a six-month pilgrimage to the sacred place would be excruciating. It was the same to Tara, but she had yet to master anything vampiric.

She would never see her reflection, so she would never be shocked at the skeleton she had become. While she regarded herself as a bit overweight in technical life, with wide hips and broad thighs, all of that alluring softness had been dropped. Her hips became literal baby shelves, showing stressed definition of her pelvis all around her stomach. She could count her own ribs with her fingertips and her knees became knobby and thin. Her cheekbones, sharp and beautiful like a busty movie star, had sunken like sinkholes.

People who passed her on the streets gave her looks. She looked anorexic, she looked like she needed a shower. Those people were the people she normally fed on, but they still bothered her.

Sunnydale was reminiscent of the Steinbeck novel. From all over, vampires fled to the promise land of California, only to see that the carrying capacity had long been exceeded. Food was scarce, and what little there was had been scored off by the bigtime bads.

Humans, of course, had become too smart for their place. They saw Tara lurking in the alleyway and ran. The few vampires she had ran into just sneered at her incompetence and stole her target. There was one night when Tara almost gave up. Her stomach was clenching up, her feeding face refusing to disappear. It had been five days since she had eaten. Maybe it was eight.

A local club had seemed all too enticing for her. It was a place she had tried to shut out because of the many embarrassing incidents that had occurred.

There was a promising feeling in her gut. That might have been her bile eating away at her stomach, but it was there.

Five feet into the doorway, Tara felt like collapsing. The scent of sweat and blood and fear was everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. Her eyes went wide and she felt like melting into the rafters as she scanned the room.

Dead-center was a vampire who was so absurdly sardonic in her health and beauty and everything else that she had made Tara's undead blood boil. The childish smirk, the easy stance, the leather that cost more than Tara's week-long stay at a motel when she was immobilized by hunger. Her chest was very present and her make-up looked like the perfect model for a dart target.

Tara's rage increased as she leisurely approached a young woman. Her fingers, so long and tantalizing, trailed up her arm. Those nails were claws and raking into the whimpering woman's arm. Within a moment, Tara was captivated. She barely remembered where she was as the vampire latched onto the woman's neck and drained her dry.

All she knew was that chaos erupted afterward.

The band had stopped, only for the microphone to clatter to the ground. Along with the thousands of dollars' worth of electrical instruments. Static crackled over the speakers and sent Tara's ears pining. She whimpered amidst the panic and seized the nearest warm body, hoping the alpha vampire wouldn't notice a little decorative gourd missing from her cornucopia.

0-0-0

Tara's head was pounding. Her eyes were playing tricks on her. That little human did jack to her condition.

There was a Slayer. And the vampire was gone. Replaced with someone just like her, only not. Mortal, probably. Of course, she was still hiding out in the corner, hoping the sheep didn't notice the corpse siting in the bathroom.

Whatever she had missed was monumental.

She observed, taking note and trying to figure out just what had been in that human's blood stream.

Most sheep would assume that vampires had a certain scent that others could pick up on. Almost like friendly neighborhood dogs. Rather, Tara could tell something had happened to the vampire that crushed her… presence to tiny, tiny pieces, or there was a fraud. Naturally, the Slayer was working with the replacement to wipe out the remaining vampires. That much was easy.

That still didn't explain where the human counterpart came from. Or why she was so boring, even for a human.

Her smile was meek and nervous. She was on edge. Her shoulders were hunched instead of back to expose more cleavage. What had been a sexy, seductive, sapphic creature had turned into a geek waving overexcitedly at the band's guitarist.

Any fool could see the vampire was gone. Tara was no fool, and she was certain that one of the clones was clearly the more desirable. "Who does this twit think she is?"

The vampire nearest her shrugged. "She's the boss."

Tara rolled her eyes.

Men.

Within the hour, the girl was hers. Tara stalked her closely, disturbed at how oblivious the supposed Slayer was. It felt like a sack of flour had been dropped straight into her stomach through her dried mouth when Tara sensed the Slayer's presence. That had faded as they were unknowingly followed back to an old factory.

_Oh. Some vengeance spell gone wrong_, Tara assumed as she watched the ritual. She had seen it all before on the crummy computer she snuck onto at night to observe Wiccan ceremonies.

The freakish nonconsensual twincest was newer, but she had been in Kentucky for quite a while.

It was strange how the group parted ways without thinking about it. Final formalities weren't exchanged; they _planned_ on the others surviving the night. In Sunnydale.

What a surprise it would be for the Slayer to walk in on her best friend with her throat ripped out…

Tara licked her lips. She waited for a moment, watching the figures disappear into the darkness outside. The stillness was unnerving as she liquidly nudged herself out of her hiding place and to the door.

Not a movement to be seen.

She followed the sounds of life back from the abandoned factory to the busy streets. She felt estranged, walking down the bustling roads. A glance to her right, to her left, everywhere, people were still happy. The redheaded girl was turning a corner.

Her smirk was unhinged. The girl was alone, in an alleyway, hopefully one she was using as a shortcut and not as a trap for potential vamps.

She froze.

What if that was it? She hadn't been the most inconspicuous stalker in the world. Like a cross had been held against her, Tara veered to the right, sucking in a breath she really didn't need.

Damn, that was close.

Of course permanent death had been awaiting her. The redhead looked all pink and fuzzy from a distance, especially in that stupid sweater, but there was something off. Maybe she was the second Slayer of rumor that had been summoned when blondie met her temporary death at the Master's hands. Or maybe Tara was just paranoid.

There was no second Slayer. And even if there was, there was no chance in hell it was the fluffy thing that had a kindergartener's physique and style.

She felt sick in a flash of worry. She had possibly lost her.

She stumbled from the grimy brick wall and back into the streets, hurriedly walking across and into the specific passage between a coffee shop and a clothing boutique. There wasn't a soul in the narrow walkway which spat Tara out into an urban neighborhood.

No one to the left. Tara's chest caved in.

To the right, up a winding hill along a quiet community, there was a fleeting form along the sidewalk.

It was walking slowly, taunting the demons in the darkness. Like she wanted to be caught at the ankle and dragged into the sewers.

Tara grit her teeth and moved faster. She was almost at a full run now, soundlessly descending on her prey. A snarl interrupted the quiet and sent the human reeling. Her face was full of horror, empty of familiarity. It wasn't her.

But Tara was hungry. It was midnight and this was the neighborhood of school teachers and pediatric nurses who needed their nightly sleep. There would be no chance of someone witnessing a feeding.

Any fighting chance the brunette would have had dispersed as Tara sent her crashing to the ground. Her mousy curls shook wildly as the swearing woman squirmed beneath Tara's might. The vampire gripped a handful and yanked to the side, exposing her throat.

The girl began to squeal in her defense. "Hey! Hey! Hey! Vampires aren't supposed to be into the kinky demon-feeding! Get the hell off of me, you skank!"

Tara froze. She blinked and pulled away, still straddling her catch. "Huh?"

"Get off! It is _not_ wise to piss off a vengeance demon! I'll find someone to wish your ass into oblivion!"

Vengeance demon. "You're the one who screwed up that ritual and messed up the realities, aren't you?" Tara politely sat back on her heels and allowed the demon to stand.

"In my defense, it was that little wannabe-Wiccan's fault. That Willow human. I have no idea how it happened, but the sands must have picked up some of her magical trace and dragged them into the dish, bringing over her other-reality's her instead of _my_ necklace. So technically, no, it was not me," the girl stated. "Name's Anyanka, wish for me by name if you catch that little rat. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to find someone who can control their magic worth a toad's ass."

Tara raised an eyebrow as the demon brushed herself off, let out an indignant huff, and hustled off.

She glanced around, standing up herself, and brushed off imaginary dust. She adjusted her collar and continued the opposite way like nothing had happened.

Willow. What a cute name. How earthy. Perfectly suited for an innocent little Wiccan girl who was too blind to see when she was messing around with something dark. She had no idea how dark the world was. Hell, she wasn't even smart enough to know that when she sensed something during a spell that she wanted to cancel, all she had to do was shatter the focal point of magic.

Humans were pretty dull.

Tara blinked at the disappearing vengeance demon and sighed. She had one of the women from the factory, she had just been following the wrong scent.

Or her senses had been blocked by the magic. Either way, she was none too happy.

She had given up any hope of finding the redhead that night. She was a human. And a little dork at that. She'd be snuggling up in her pink bedspreads, holding a stuffed teddy or writing in a journal. Tara scoffed at the thought and went to find her way back to the motel.

0-0-0

The place smelled the way a wet towel left in a filthy hamper for a week did. Tara scrunched her nose and was tempted to bury herself into the pillows, but they were worse for wear. The sun was high in the sky and Tara had yet to get a wink of sleep.

She threw the smelling blanket over her sleeping form and yawed. Her eyes were heavy, and while she had actually scored someone on the walk of shame back to her room, she was hungry. Again.

There was a quiet knock on her door. She groaned. "Housekeeping."

"Go away," she mumbled, knowing they wouldn't hear.

The key in the lock turned and the lady let herself in. She didn't even begin to apologize for invasion of privacy, rifling through her pockets and pulling out a pair of gloves. She emptied the trashcan and walked right back out.

Damn humans.

** A/N: Finishing and posting **_**live**_** from the Cincinnati Comic Expo! One hell of a short chapter, but too bad! Willara-y goodness to eventually come!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: There is a set timeline here. This starts around ****_Earshot_**** and will end around ****_The Prom_****. When does Tara end up in the graveyard? Ha, like I'm saying. Chapters are to toggle from Willow to Tara's point of view. This is Willow, just so you know.**

** Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy.**

0-0-0

Willow squirmed uncomfortably in the library seat. _Buffy, scram. Scram now and don't hear me. Yes, listen to Xander and his endless thoughts of sex_, she silently pleaded. Not thinking was the hardest thing she had been through at that point. Thinking about not thinking led to spazzing and spazzing led to more thinking about not thinking. Her own head was reeling just trying to wrap her head around the basic train of thinking and not.

She scooted closer to Oz. He was her anchor for the moment. If she kept him in her thoughts, the confusing ones might fade to the back of her head and eventually disappear.

That was the plan, at least.

Oz had a pensive look on his face. That was not unusual, but the ideas he said often were. Unusual, but very, very true. Like how a werewolf only turned volatile when he had rage turned inwards. Willow thought that was as believable as Buffy's recounting of a drunk Angel, but the calmer he was, the calmer the wolf was.

He still tried to use Willow's arms as chew toys, but sometimes he was in more of a gnawing mood than a crunching one.

"God, Xander, is that all you think about?" she asked, looking shocked, but kinda not.

"Actually–" he started, bolting before any response came.

Willow relaxed in her seat. Maybe she was not the only one thinking about women. Naked, busty women. Not in the creeper twincest way that her doppelgänger had forced on her, but more attractive-naked women. Willow silently screamed. This was going to be hell.

0-0-0

Buffy, thankfully, found an overwhelming presence to drown out Willow's naughty thoughts. Ever since that stupid vampire popped up, Willow had that nagging question in the back of her mind. And it wasn't like it was worse when Buffy was around with all her psychicness. Maybe she silently hoped that Buffy could read her mind and find a nasty sex demon stuck in there. And then she could go all-Slayer and get Giles to do the research and take care of the killing.

The days seemed to get worse and worse before Buffy finally went from a panicking, stressed creature to a normal panicking, stressed teenager.

Willow just silently sat back and pouted. She went back to brooding about the confusing behavior of her double.

She prayed that was all the vampire was to every deity she knew. Mostly Yahweh, since he was all Jewish and everything, but also a few Wiccan beings who might pity her more.

If that vampire wasn't just some innocent girl who went all demonic after becoming a vampire, then Willow was in for some serious trouble. There was no way she was gay. Not even kinda. Or sorta. Maybe just a little bit, but no more. Besides, there was Oz, and Oz had man-parts that Willow had yet to see. She had the impulse to speed things up to see if _that_ would make her normal, but she doubted it.

"Urgh," she complained to herself, staring out into the yard. Her heart flew into her throat upon seeing a blonde head of hair disappear into the night.

Buffy was finally back to patrolling. _Heh_, Willow thought to herself, relaxing into her pillows the best she could with a ramrod back. _Guess the Buffster still has to work with her subtlety again_. Willow wanted to go back to sleep, but the scare she had gotten was like dumping a quart of ice water on her head. Chills wracked her body, her hair clung to her skull, and her clothes felt baggy and unneeded. She sighed in resolution, getting up to start the shower.

The water clunked through the pipes. She stepped onto the smooth plastic, sighing as the heating water almost worked the terrified knots from her back. _Oh, geez. Thank gods, a normal teenage thing to stress about. Who the hell am I gonna ask? Oh, yeah. Boyfriend, doofus. But what am I gonna wear? Oh, yeah, doofus, you're gonna show up naked. Maybe Mother Dearest will remember to go dress-shopping with me. Or remember I've got prom. Or remember that I exist_.

And of course, she still had to worry about hacking around the Mayor's website. Maybe they could figure something about him out other than the fact that he was old and demonic. Or rather, she and Giles could do all the brainwork while Buffy slayed and Xander sat back and worked out some miracle in the end.

Even though she sat back while the bloody, dangerous work was kept far away, the Big Bads always were her out.

Willow sat back in the shower stall, staring at the ceiling.

Left out of everything _and _sorta gay. She had a few months of high school left and then she'd be in the real world. In college. On her own. Of course, being on her own would be no different than the rest of her life, with her stupid parents never showing their stupid faces. _And I've gotta throw that group of potential killers together tomorrow… Can't forget that Jonathan kid. Or Cordelia. But Cordelia's been with us the whole time. Hmph, I'll convince Buffy she's a demon someday_.

Willow stepped out of the warm steam and shivered in the cold. She wrapped a towel around her small frame, not sparing a glance in the mirror to her boyish figure. Maybe she was meant to be born a dude and the reproduction organs missed the memo.

She shook the water from her hair, heading back out to her room and glancing outside again.

Her heart nearly fell out of her chest again. A white rose was placed on her balcony, set dead-center and glowing in the moonlight. Oz must have snuck in and snuck right back out. She moved for the door, slowly pulling it open.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose up. Something was watching her.

Without thinking, she grabbed for the thornless stem and locked herself back in the safety of her room. She shut off the lights and forced her eyes to shut.

She began to formulate the list of suspects to keep her overactive mind busy. _Jonathan, yeah. Got him. So, there's one student out of the potential hundreds we'll have to look into. Gee, I'm all with the enthusiasm today_.

Whatever had left the flower was long gone by the time Willow peeked out from beneath the covers. The backyard was devoid of motion, and even if it was still there, she had a stake and holy water and the door was locked. If all else failed, she would make an angry ghost.

Willow groaned again. Of course, Sunnydale could be haunted to the brim by tomorrow. All those students, ripe to be ripped to shreds.

The pen was motionless against the legal pad she had pulled out. A single name in chicken-scrawl handwriting was printed across the top. A garden variety Willow could have seventy names all categorized by their possible motives. But a panicked, tired Willow who had way too much to think about had one.

Jonathan was followed by Mr. Beech. He was one of the few teachers who didn't adore Willow. And her anger was directed straight for him at the moment. She was a straight A's student… who had recently received an invitation to Oxford. Yeah, she could get into Oxford if she wanted to.

Of course, Oxford was in a completely different continent and she had yet to disclose the information to her diary.

_That's for the B on my essay, Bee-otch. Heh, that was a good one_.

Maybe Faith had something to do with this. Faith certainly was a bad, bad person. And she had split a while ago. Maybe she had just stayed in the sewers she lived in. But of course, it was hard to miss a total skank in skin-tight leather. With her boobs very obvious and her posture all relaxed and sexy… And there was the confusing signals she was constantly sending Willow's way. Or they were being imagined and Willow just thought she was hot.

_I think I'll put her on my personal list. And ask around. Or something._

0-0-0

The mind-reading was over and the killer had been caught. And Willow was off by a mile.

Her genius had done nothing for her. If that Xander hadn't wandered into the kitchen, following that stupid stomach of his, countless poor people would be dead.

"Way to go, Willow," she said to herself.

"What?" Buffy asked, looking up from her espresso. She had been exhausted since she recovered from the mind-reading. She hadn't slept for days, during and after the accident.

Joyce and Giles…

Willow shuddered. "Sorry, just talking to myself. Since we hardly to the talking anymore, might as well get all this out when I can."

Buffy's face fell. "I'm sorry, Will. You know, you can always come with me on patrol or something. Or join us in this new age and pick up a phone. Why don't you go out with Oz if you're that lonely?"

Willow shrugged. He stared at the table of the Espresso Pump where she and Buffy had met up for a midday get-together. Sadly, the majority of the group had lives that needed attending to. "I don't know. I guess I need female affection." _Oh great. Now with the euphemisms_. "Buff, can I ask you something? Of course, I can. May I ask you a second – no, third thing?" Willow asked, afraid the babble was about to set in.

"'Course, Will. Anything," Buffy asked. "Unless it's homework. Or otherwise related to the intelligent fields."

"What did you think of Larry? You know, him being all gay?"

"Hey, it's better than him grabbing my ass in gym, don't you think?" Buffy asked. With that tone of voice, there was no telling if she was being a homophobic smartass or not. Or if she was really just talking to herself.

Willow's shoulders fell. "I mean, like, are gay people cool?"

Buffy shrugged. "I guess. I mean, I'm certainly not gay for Faith, if that's what you're worrying about? Or if I'm gonna put some girl before you. Or anything like that. Nope, that's not gonna happen. Sorry to worry you, Will."

The redhead gently placed her forehead in her hand, fantasizing that she was smashing it with a hammer.

0-0-0

**A/N: I've got to be the worst person about updating fanfictions EVER. Sorry about that.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Chapter six, from ****_Graduation Day: Part One_**** to ****_Part Two_****, Tara's point of view. Pretty self-explanatory.**

0-0-0

The threadbare blankets shielded her from the sunlight, which still seeped through the thin curtains and slowly barbequed her back. It was nothing close to fatal, but the searing, dull pain slowly brought her to consciousness. The unbelievable heat almost sent her skyrocketing to sure death. She just groaned and inched her way for the darkness of the shadows. Another fresh wave of nausea, the stench of the sweat and sex baked into the sheets, the sunlight, the feeling of impending destruction settling on Sunnydale, sent her retching.

From her point on the floor, she could carefully avoid the sinking sunlight and make it to the bathroom. She ignored any grace and wheeled for the toilet, her latest meal coming up curdled and extra-chunky into the toilet. They formed a red soup lining along the water, where they stayed, bubbling like a lava lamp. A vampire's stomach acids digested the blood with chemical reactions that made digesting blood lighter than water to ease consumption. It was all fascinating in the beginning, but it was now a formula for disgust that pealed dry heaves from her raw throat.

It wasn't even sunset.

Tara groaned. The coolness of the putrid faux porcelain was a relief against her skin. _I'm a fucking vampire. This is truly the pits_.

She peeled herself from the sweat-sticky glassware and forced herself into the tiny shower stall, starting the water. She found that sleeping naked kept her cooler and deterred visitors.

Even the water, a cold shot of ice that magically cured her headache and well-baked back, could not banish the twisting in her stomach. Her muscles bunched up in tight knots, locking her elbows into a weak wall-stand against the shower stall coated with grime. Her knees shook and goosebumps crawled over the most unpleasant of places, her chest pebbling and tightening. The water washed precious pounds of sweat from her body, leaving her a bag of bones that literally dropped half a pound.

Ninety-nine pounds. There was no way she could live this way. She needed seven bodies, bloodless at her feet, to make the next week. The inane hunger gnawed at her stomach lining and left her insides deflated.

Another fresh wave of sobs wracked her body. The pining headache began against, curling her into a helpless mess on the floor. She melted into the floor and blacked out again.

She woke some time later and subconsciously began for the door. Dirty clothes speckled the floor. They clung to her body like the second (third) skin they were. Her heart thrummed against her chest.

_Come help us_, they said, _he'll make you a goddess in his rule. Such a pretty young lady_.

_Piss off,_ she snarled to the slammed door.

But of course, they had to be serious. The disturbance was driving her and the rest of the supernatural world insane. There was a power that had never existed before suddenly ripe and coming. Tara blinked the blinding ache away and started for the door. She snarled and ran out.

Something huge and serpentine rose above the terra cotta roofing of the local high school that an internal compass magnetized her toward. That Slayer went there, that high-schooled runt. Slayers were supposed to be legendary warriors. She was failing half her classes, the idiot that she seemed to be. Tara shifted, wondering if she should really target this man. Maybe he could take the Slayer out and leave her alone.

Yet there were so many goody-goods in this damned town. Sunnydale was poxed with them, the Hellmouth weighed down by the weight of the ensouled.

A tremendous roar ripped through the night. Tara grabbed at her head as another pulse wriggled its fingers into her brain. Slayer or not, there was something unnatural that needed to be annihilated. Her face was bumpy. A kid in a red robe ran past her, only to trip over a diving kick and send her flying into the dust.

She gasped and screamed, the cry muffled by long, lithe fingers. Her neck was snapped in an instant and Tara quickly suckled out what she could. There was a gurgling groan she chose to ignore before breaking off and resuming her trek into the school.

Tara walked through the empty halls, towards the center. She could only assume that she would run into a three-hundred-plus-foot snake eventually.

Her theory proved correct, she surfaced onto the second-story balcony and watched as a sheep was tennis-racqueted across the lawn. The back of the snake writhed and twisted, looking for something to swallow. A short, bald man was swallowed before Tara regained her senses and went searching.

There was a moment of complete silence as she stopped in the halls, spying a flash of red hair. Through the windows, she was fighting against a horde of vampires with another sheep. Tara's eyes fixated on the short man and her nose wrinkled in disgust. There was something about him, not vampire and not human. Not demon, or at least not completely. She ran for the figure and threw the man to the side, snarling as he scrambled.

She seized her wrist and pulled her close, fending off an attacking vampire. "This one's mine," she hissed, pulling the redhead for the corridors.

The same petite figure that posed as a vampire overlord. Smaller breasts that were really nice in leather and a slender figure, all hidden beneath a ceremonial robe. Tara was expecting a human sacrifice for the demon creature, given the sanguine color, but felt dumber than ever upon spying the graduation cap. "What the frilly hell, lady?"

Tara paused, feeling around her face. Her bumps had disappeared entirely.

Even without the bumpies, she screamed vampire. The girl should have been running for her life. Idiot.

On the other hand, to the small girl, she was still human. "You need to get out of here," she said before thinking, starting to tow her for the doors. Never mind the toy she would make and the complete obliviousness to her nature. "It isn't safe, that thing will eat you alive."

"No, _we_ need to get out of here. Buffy's gonna be through here any minute, and, and the school's gonna explode! Literally!" the girl shrieked, starting to panic. "Um, lockers that way, and where the hell is the exit around here?"

She began to spaz again, spinning and glancing at the walls, like she wasn't a senior who had spent her blooming years in the halls.

"Come on," Tara hissed, impatient. "I'll get you out of here, just don't fight it. And watch out for that kid you were with earlier. And be careful, there's a vampire who looks just like you. I'm sure she's not here anymore, but those rituals can go wrong. She could always come back if you're not careful, if there's still traces of you in those dimensional salts. I'm assuming that's what went wrong, at least."

The girl's mouth flapped like a fish's. "Um. That vampire, you know her? And what do you mean, she can come back?! I'm not ready to deal with that amount of forced gayness again."

Tara's heart fluttered, but she ignored it. "Sometimes the Wiccan rituals aren't foolproof. You need to be careful with what you mess around with, girl. You'll hurt yourself. Anyways, as long as the ritual plate was shattered, the connection is gone for good. Unless that vengeance demon gets her powers back. Then she can fuck anything up."

A faint mumbling pricked Tara's ears. It sounded like a 'Tell me about it'.

Chaos drowned the squeaking voice out. There was a faint rumbling that ripped through the school. Tara paled and grabbed the redhead, sprinting for the windows. They ripped like paper and Tara quickly twisted herself around, grunting as the impact blew unneeded air form her lungs.

What was the point of running upstairs to escape an impending explosion, anyway?

The small girl scrambled from her grip, looking back at the sound of the ripping. It was more of a crashing as it neared them. She registered that and grabbed the bruised vampire, hauling her for the shrubs bordering the front lawn.

A huge explosion sent Tara's ears ringing. She whimpered again, clutching at her skull.

Before she knew what was happening, the redhead sank to her knees, her eyes finally focusing on the dirtied features of the vampire.

There was no way she could remember her face in the chaos of the night. No human could.

Tara grabbed her skull, knowing this, and planted a quick kiss on in before jumping to her feet and racing out into the night. The sounds of the school's combustion followed her halfway into town, when she finally stopped and sank off her weak knees. Her vision spun, but she could make out the faint sound of sirens. Nice to know that the firemen were quicker to respond than anything in this damned town.

She took in a burning breath, whimpering as it peeled the alveoli from their tiny branches. "Don't need to breath," she mumbled to herself. "Stupid, stupid…"

People finally seemed to register that there was a skeleton perched on the edge of the sidewalk. They peered from the porch of the Espresso Pump, eyebrows raised. _Shit_, Tara thought to herself. Her face was normal.

Her vision was clouded by a splash of red. Tara jumped, rolling up her short sleeve and pressing it to the wound. That stupid human. If Tara hadn't been so fascinated in the first place, she would have broken everyone's necks in the abandoned factory to get to her.

If she did that, the enormous, filthy cut in her forehead would not exist. There would be no embarrassing moments of fumbling around the town, rushing to get home so she could clean it. There would be no foolish fondling of her forehead, searching for where the hell it was. Stupid vampires and their stupid non-existent reflections.

There was no telling how Tara would react if she had seen the creature she had become. She just guessed a few pounds had dropped from her stomach, which had been deliciously soft and full. Which she had mistaken for fat. She saw her arms at times, the skeletal rods protruding from her ribcage. She could count every single one now, without applying any pressure, as her fingers walked her stomach and downward.

_Great_, Tara thought to herself. She shot up from the ripped seat, the bloodying rag falling to the floor. With regeneration powers and peroxide, the lash would be gone in a day, she figured, but that had no meaning at the time. She began to prod herself, making sure her assumption was correct.

Twenty-four, up and down, through her sides, even beneath her diminishing breasts. She was wasting away to nothing.

Her jaw clenched. She could have wreaked havoc at the high school. The kids obviously had no plan to form a militant defense against the vampires and the demon lord. They would have been the easiest prey in months. Or she could have kept that redhead, taken her away and turned her. Have a little sex partner and someone who could help her with the bloody work.

Tara sighed, swaying in the cramped room. It needed to be paid off again in a day. She needed to get into a house, somehow, destroy the family and take all their money. She hoped she was finally learning about the criminal life, that the rich just had stupid plastic and checks and the real jackpot was in the illegal immigrants and such.

The trouble was finding them. And when she did not succeed and the threat of being evicted was looming far above, there was always the work of selling trinkets off to thrift shops. And she needed new clothes.

And there was now an urgent need to find a way to wriggle out of the weekly payment. The need for sunblock or a raincoat was more taxing.

She had to get out during the day and start observing. The best predators observed from a distance, sitting on a far rock and starting. She could get a huge head-start if she could hunt during the day.

But that plan could always fall through. The sunlight could just pass right through and turn her into a pile of dust and SPF-200.

She had collapsed on the bed again, wailing. Her thoughts passed through her in five seconds and it was way too much to deal with in any amount of time.

There was a banging at the door. There was no way that the landlord could have been coming today… No, it was the day. She had paid for six the last time because of another shortage of money and had completely forgotten about it.

"Just a second," she managed through the tears.

Of course, she could always drag him in and drain him dry, but then another would come along. Eventually, the police – or rather, that fucking Slayer – would become suspicious of the disappearing landlords and investigate. And there were only so many places to hide a body.

He was not the monster who greeted her, thankfully. Instead, a more unpleasant sight greeted her. "Wow. Willy does know how to rat out."

The voice was light, bouncy, and so utterly human.

"Slayer." Tara's voice was deep and growling. "I haven't killed in a week. Fuck off."

Bunny, as she was whispered amongst by the vampires when she wasn't just _Slayer_, put her hands on her hips. She was so tiny up close. Tara had several inches on her. She lacked the steel-hard muscles of a typical, healthy vampire, but she could still launch the petite human by the yards. "That's not what I'm here about. Pull those fangs on me, and I might go rethinking that statement."

Willy was a dead man. A dead man with a broken vodka bottle speared through his windpipe. "Come on, I've got to get out for a while. Spit it out."

Ratting on her like that. She had been to the bar once or twice and he already had his cronies dig up where she lived. Even worse, he or his legion were handing out passes to the damned Slayer. Some ally he was.

"Hey!" Bunny snapped.

Tara shook her head. "You're boring me, Rabbit."

Bunny scrunched her brow in confusion, but ignored the nickname. "As I was trying to say… You weren't fooling anyone in that school. Willow's gonna have nightmares for weeks. She is my best friend and I found out your exact address in the two hours between now and when you had your filthy hands all over her. The only reason I'm not stuffing your remains into an urn as I talk is that you saved her. Intentionally or not. And I wanted to thank you."

Tara was drifting off, but her confusion lured her back in. "I thought your job was to kill all the demons, sweetheart. Here you are, thanking me for trying to take her away from that boy of hers'. If I had the chance, you'd have to deal with another vampire-her."

Bunny knotted a fist into her hair. "Look, this is hard enough. I'm not sure what in the Hellmouth's name is wrong with you, but… If you've got the intention of hurting Willow, stay away. If not…"

Frustrated beyond words, Buffy sighed and pulled something from her pocket. "She asked me to give this to you."

"You hunted me down to hand me a scrap of paper," Tara stated, taking the lined, crumpled mess from the Slayer. "Kudos to you. Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out."

The Slayer refused to take her leave. "You sure look shitty for a vampire. If you're ensouled, I understand completely. There's a butcher shop a few blocks down, my ex-soulless-now-souled-vampire-ex-boyfriend went there all the time. You are ensouled, right?"

"I know I'm skinny," Tara avoided the question of the soul entirely. "I never have enough to eat. I'm working my butt off to stay alive. There's no way I'm putting another expense on my poor wallet."

Bunny crossed her arms. "Jeez. Forget I was trying to help at all, then."

With that, she turned around. "And they sell it for dirt-cheap, you know!" she hollered before jogging down the stairs.

Tara blinked stupidly at the disappearing figure. She had just been in face-to-face contact with the legendary rival of all demonic kind. The Slayer, with strength to break down a concrete wall and the stamina to sprint from Sunnydale to New Mexico, had just been on her doorstep.

For what?

Tara made her fingers work again, smoothing out the wrinkles on the paper. Something plopped onto the ground, making her jump. She kneeled down to retrieve it, her eyes growing wide as she unfolded the wadded-up hundred-dollar bill. Tears sprang to her eyes. This would cover nearly a month of working. She blinked them away, realizing she was acting human, and glanced at the paper.

A yellow sun and flowers smiled at her, a line of grass that occasionally spiked up in thick lines of green marker running along the bottom. _I know I'll never see you again_, the looping handwriting of the redhead said.

"Willow," Tara whispered to herself. Willow… such a beautiful name for an upcoming Wiccan. So earthy… "Willow…"

_But I would have bene skewered by those vamps. I would have appreciated it if you had grabbed_ – the writing abruptly ran out of room, a quick arrow drawn to loop around to the back – _my boyfriend too, but he can handle himself. Super-strength sorta thing. I'm rambling in my writing, and this is pen, and I think I'll just shut up and say what I need to say_.

New paragraph. Tara stayed stooped in the doorway, scanning the paper with wide eyes. She must have looked so badass, her cleavage hanging out unflatteringly, on her knees, reading the back of a kindergartener's drawing and nearly crying again._ Anyway! You got me away and I would be dead if you hadn't. Possibly. But you looked really skinny and your clothes are kinda dirty, and not that you're a hobo or anything, but I made it into Sunnydale University_–

Where she would be attending school… very interesting…

_with a full ride, and I've got more than enough to pay for everything else and I can spare this 'cuz I wouldn't use it if I was dead, so it belongs to you. Realized I'm writing wayyy too big gotta go bye thank you again_.

Tara stood up, reeling.

Willow, who would attend Sunnydale University starting in the fall, three or four months away. Willow, who had a name to her face and a moan to Tara's occasional sessions. "Willow." Tara tasted the name again.

A small redhead, Willow, with bright green eyes that seemed so much prettier up close and without all that fake make-up. A friend of the Slayer.

Of course, had the school not been blown up, Tara would go spelunking for school records. There was a house she had her eye on, where she had thought she had seen Willow vanish into, but no one was ever home.

Probably just a friend's house. An older friend's. Her parents had to be home _sometimes_, and parents needed cars, which were never present in the driveway. Deductive reasoning led Tara to the fact that the only way to find her little toy was to head out and look. Or wait until college started.

Then, she'd just have to tear off the rooms to every dorm until she found her.

Tara growled. The name got her nowhere.

Either way, the gesture was incredibly sweet. She finally stood up, still holding the paper to her face. She placed it on the dresser, revering it like a ticket to eternal happiness. Tara folded the bill and searched for a place to store it while she went out hunting.

Her heart throbbed for the first time in ages. Bunny was a Slayer. Slayers hunted vampires. New vampires were constantly being born and preexisting ones were out clubbing and necking, in the vampiric fashion.

She smiled to herself.

It was late. The clubs would be raving with seniors who recently graduated. Anyone could easily juggle a little friendly dancing and staking the obvious vampire here and there.

Tara set out to where she had first seen her glimpse at the little Willow, her little doll.

The victory of tonight was coming. Yes, it was. Because her life had been nothing but shit and it was damn time that the fates started treating her with a little bit of respect. She had money, she had a small meal, but a meal nonetheless, and she had a goal in mind.

Yes, this was going to be a night indeed.

** A/N: The next chapter, peoples, is going to pick back up with Willow and Tara again. Yes, meeting. I planned it so they met the summer before ****_The Freshmen_****. This chapter is going to loop around; chronologically, this is before Chapter One, a week or so after Tara (naturally) fails at finding Willow at the Bronze. Figured you all can imagine how that goes down at the bar yourselves.**

** Femslash goodness to come, starting neeeext chapter (if I keep repeating that, I will get reviews and applause, right?).**


	7. Chapter 7

** A/N: You thought I was dead.**

** Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy.**

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Tara screamed and clutched at her burning face. A small hand encircled her wrist and pulled, another waterfall of fire cascading down her back. Tara twisted out with ease, blinking the pain away, and seized Willow by the arm. She flew like a paper airplane onto her bed, screaming like a banshee.

She wiped at the last remnants of the fire ant colony before closing in on the witch, hissing furiously. "What the fuck!" she screamed, straddling her.

Willow kicked and flailed aimlessly, beating her fists against Tara. "Let me go!"

Tara seized another nail file from Willow's bedside table. She examined her nails closely, finding a bit of a squared edge on her thumb. She whittled it down to a soft crescent before digging her nails into Willow's chest. She dragged the short claws down slowly, reveling in her screams. "Answer me!"

Another pathetic squeal echoed from her throat before she twisted away futilely. Tara stared down at her prey. Her mouth turned into a sneer. "What the hell was that for, you maggot?"

Minutes passed before Willow finally calmed down, a track of tears drying on her face. Her lip was quivering and she breathed in hiccups. Tara just watched from her perch, raising an eyebrow. It wasn't like she had taken a chunk from her neck. She jumped when the small chest beneath her jolted upward. She twisted her face into a mask of confusion when another ensued moments later. "You've got the hiccups. Mega-hiccups."

"I don't care," Willow mumbled. "You're just going to kill me and make me into a vampire and I'll never have to breathe again so I might as well hiccup while I can," she spat out, trembling like a mouse.

Tara blinked stupidly. "Who said anything about killing you?" she asked more to herself. She had hardly thought about turning her, like actually doing it.

Willow whimpered. "You didn't need to say it. I can just tell you're going to do it."

"That's being a little judgmental, don't you think?" Tara asked, moving a wet, red lock from her forehead. She stroked at her cheek, watching in slight hurt as she squirmed away from her touch. "Come on, little Willow," she crooned. "Open your eyes, sweet thing."

Her heart jumped back to life for a moment as Willow looked at her through tear-filled eyes. "Then why are you here?"

The question caught her off-guard. She blinked, then blinked again, focusing her gaze on the green eyes before her. "I don't know," she breathed.

She felt the heart beneath her swell and heard the gushing blood pump like mad. The hunger in her stomach suddenly came back from its dull existence, her stomach growling. There was a moment of complete silence, through the whirling blood and her raging stomach and Willow's maniacal breathing. Tara flushed at the intensity and jumped up, landing gracelessly at the foot of the bed. "I-I don't know," she stated again. She hardly understood the concept in her head and it felt so wrong coming from her mouth. The stutter was back and everything.

She shook her head and turned for the door, her heart racing for the first time in years. Hearts of vampires never beat, they never had souls, and they never needed them. In extreme fear, they might get a slight jolt, just from instinct. Seeing the full moon was enough. "I-I do know. But you aren't going to like it."

Willow shuffled around on the bed behind her, scrambling to rest against the headrest. "Tara?" she asked, her voice filled with fear. "Tara, what's wrong?"

Tara looked at the moon again, glowing in its brilliance. "T-that boy. Y-your b-b-boyfriend, I'm guessing," she said, finally understanding that this girl was straight. She admitted it, the whole endeavor was hopeless. Vampirism changed a person, but orientation was part of the soul, part that even losing it wouldn't break. "He's dangerous, and you need to stay away from him."

"Tara, you aren't serious," she whispered. "Is he like you?"

The blonde shook her head. "No. He's worse. So much worse. Us vampires, we can be ruthless and cruel, but the unusually evil choose to do so. But there's no difference with him. Willow, he's a werewolf. When he gets mad, he'll turn, or on any full moon, and the day before and after. And when he turns, there's no difference between moral and meal."

Willow shook her head. "You can't be serious. You came to tell me that? You saw that he wasn't turning. In full exposure and everything."

A needle jabbed itself into her heart and she felt it deflate. Tara sighed. "I thought you didn't know."

"_Of course I knew_, he's my boyfriend!" Willow shouted with unnecessary force.

She flinched. "I-I don't like being yelled at," Tara whispered.

Willow sank away almost instantly. "Well, that's a little strange. I mean, you're a vampire. You've got super strength. And you could just, you know, like break my neck or something if you got too mad."

"I wouldn't do that," Tara said, feeling slightly shocked. The feeling faded away and she quirked a lopsided smile. "I think I like you."

She saw Willow's face flush. She mirrored the smirk, her eyes shining charmingly. "Thank you."

0-0-0

"And you just let them do that to you?" she asked incredulously. "I don't believe that. I mean, you're so beautiful. And certainly not fat. And you might be a little clumsy, but that's kinda cute. And, and, you're a vampire, for Hecate's sake!"

Tara felt a small surge of confidence. "I wasn't a vampire at the time, sweety," she corrected. "I was just little Tara. Or big Tara. They always told me I was fat. Since it was all I heard, I kinda had to believe it."

Willow frowned. "You've got a feminine figure. You know, actual hips. And a definite chest."

Another warm feeling fluttered in her stomach. "It gets a little embarrassing at times, how big I am. It doesn't do as much as you'd think."

"You could always flash the bartenders. Free drinks and all," Willow added.

Tara shrugged.

Another moment passed by. Tara smiled again, tracing circles on the warm blankets. They had been talking, just casually talking, for the day. She had finally had a chance to open up about her life. She hardly understood the concept of private, since she had the opportunity to just converse with someone, but there was still that nagging feeling she didn't like. And there were a few things Donny went out and did that she wasn't comfortable with. "So what're you like?" she asked, hoping that she could avoid the subject of plain old Tara.

Willow, who had been resting her head on her splayed arm, smiled for a split-second before the expression faded. "I don't know. There's not much to tell. Life's been all weird lately. This weirdo alternate-universe me comes over and really screws with my head. A few hours ago, I was going to try to kill you, and I feel terrible about it. Not really much I can do to make it up. Except sit here and talk, it seems, because you really like talking. You're so sweet, you know it? Anyway, I guess… with me, I don't have much to talk about. I mean, I'm a witch, woo-hoo. Who's not these days? And I'm always in Buffy's shadow, it feels. My boyfriend's a werewolf, and I don't even think I can call him my boyfriend anymore…"

"Why not?" Tara asked after she trailed off.

The redhead shrugged. "I don't know… We just, you know, haven't done anything. He's real nice and all, but I odn't think that exciting little spark is there anymore. You've had boyfriends before, right?"

Tara felt like getting sick. She had never really said _it _to anyone else before. "I'm a lesbian," she said before thinking about it.

"Oh." Willow said, very off-handedly. "No biggie. That's really cool, actually. Never really had a friend my parents wouldn't approve of. I feel so rebellious," Willow said, moving closer, giggling.

She knit her eyebrows together. "They don't like gay people? They sound even worse now."

"Oh! No, no no no! So totally not! I-I mean, you just came out to me, and that officially constitutes you as a friend, and and, you're a vampire, and they wouldn't have approved before but now we're really friends and–"

Tara grinned. "I get it," she said. Willow cut off mid-ramble, just smirking.

"But, going on about my life. I live on a Hellmouth and all, so things can really get interesting. Like, we fought the Master! And Buffy killed him! And we took care of Angelus, and you were here with the Mayor, weren't you!" she breathed, the entire night coming back to her. "Yeah! You were that girl!"

Great. "Possibly." Her voice took on a snarky tone.

Willow raised her eyebrows again. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" Tara asked. "Save your life?"

"No, no, I'm like really in-debt with you there, thanks so much, but but, I mean go from like super-sweet to badass couldn't-care-less?" Willow asked. "You're not bipolar, I don't think… I try to study psychology, little me, but I can't even diagnose–"

Tara pressed a finger to Willow's mouth, grinning wickedly. "Trade secret, baby-doll."

The tiny girl smiled. "Baby-doll?"

Baby-doll. _Don't know where that came from_. "Yes."

Flecks of red erupted on the witch's face, slowly spotting her face until she looked like a freckled, sunburnt Dalmatian. Tara thought it was the cutest thing since demonic puppies. "You're blushing," she stated.

Her eyes went wide. "Is it that noticeable?"

Tara gave a half-nod. "It's charming."

Willow cut her off with a yawn. "I'm getting sleepy," she whispered. "Do you need me to drive you home?"

"You can drive?" Tara asked, a slight tone to her voice.

"Well, Ms. Doubty-ness, I cannot. But I've got a friend," she trailed off.

Moonlight spilled into the room and Tara's eyes growled with a primeval light. "You know, I've been hiding in your closet all day. The sunlight still burned. It's almost nine and I've been stuck like a rat, but not in a bad way. I think I'd like to just walk home. Move around a bit, you know."

"Can't blame you. It's a nice, beautiful night, wouldn't you say?" Willow asked, a coy quirk to her eyebrow.

She nodded. "Yeah. It's a short night, I better get going. Find some dinner."

The moment the statement left her mouth, she knew she made a mistake. Willow visibly paled. Tara was about to correct herself, but Willow cut her off. "No, no, no. It's fine. Not 'no, don't eat', but no, you're a vampire. It's totally okay. It's natural, you know? Just, try to make it quick and painless. And try to make it some drunk chink who survives and thinks it's all a dream."

Humans freaked out when they learned they were cattle. This tiny little witch, who strived to kill most vampires because they tended to be pretty damn evil, just waved it off. Tara got up, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You didn't flip out. That's something very different, you know. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Willow said, resting her head against the pillow. Her eyes had fluttered shut, and Tara, soundless, had slipped out before they cracked to check for her.

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**A/N: So sorry for the long update, peoples. Family crises.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I do not own Buffy the Slayer of the Vampires. If I did, my stories might occasionally get reviewed (Shout out to the guest who has very loyally reviewed many of the chapters, I adore you!) :D.**

** Aside the smartassery…. Um, never mind, there **_**is **_**no beside the smartassery. Still taking place over the summer between hell school and college.**

** Rate and review, s'il vous pla**î**t.**

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Willow jolted into wakefulness, her natural reaction to attack kicking in. The sheets had other plans and wrapped around her legs, interrupting her flight plan from the bed and grappling on, sending her to the ground.

The ground was a very formidable opponent.

"Damned house," she mumbled. Ganging up on me like that."

She stared at the empty bed. There was a definite impression where she had slept, but the other half of the plain sheets were smooth and clear. Surrealist images popped into her head. A spell flooding her senses, the entire events of those previous nights a dream. Some vampire, sneaking in, just an ugly, skanky ho with a penchant for mind spells.

_Yeah, that's totally logical. You nutjob_.

A name rung through her mind. So sweet, and earthy… Tara.

Tara had left nothing for her, Willow noticed. Somehow, with both disappointment and thankfulness. She felt a sinking feeling at the realization that there was not a single trace of the vampire. No blood adorning the glass door, no familiar, earthy scent, no…

Pink rose sitting on the mantle. Her heart flipped in circles. She approached it carefully, her fingers brushing along the elegant stem. She smirked unconsciously, bringing it into her hands, twirling it around.

_How sweet_.

The veins blushed a light red. Her cheeks flushed, thinking of the color of her cheeks after Tara had nearly drained her. Her thoughts went from the rose to the very specific tongue that had worked along her neck, sucking in sync with her pulse. It may have just been the vampire spit, but her heart had been racing faster than a horse at that moment. Scary, scary horses, moving at unnatural speeds. Willow felt her head go fuzzy at the thought of that tongue somewhere else.

She shook her head. Stupid vampires, all with the slutty seduction. Tara wasn't a slut, certainly not, but the seduction part…

Oz. Willow lunged for the phone like it was trying to run from her, dialing his number as quickly as she could.

Her heart had a dull needle shoved through it with each progressing ring. She almost collapsed when he finally answered with his typical contemplative voice.

"Oz! Yeah, Oz! Nothing important really, just wanted to call and say 'good morning' is all," she said, waving her hands around like a lunatic. "You know, since I very easily could've died last night and all."

There was a moment of complete silence when she was certain that Oz had stopped breathing form shock. "Are you okay? No missing limbs?"

"Nope, all here. Just, a meteor, you know. Could've crashed onto the house…" she trailed off. "And totally nothing else."

"Ah."

Another awkward silence crackled through the phone lines. Willow wound her fingers into the cord, chewing on her lip. Her face paled as she caught a glance of her neck in the mirror. "Wow, I think I hear Buffy at the door. I-I better go."

Willow slammed the phone down a little too forcefully and perched on the edge of her bureau. She was transfixed by the two puncture marks that had managed to pop up, seemingly overnight. When Tara fed from her, she _had_ given her a dose of saliva, to heal them up…

Her fingers froze as she lightly skimmed the hole perched above her clavicle. It was like a neat indenture, reddened in the center and rimmed with drying blood. "Gods, she gave me a hickey!"

0-0-0

It took an hour to appropriately cover the wound. Maybe she had jumped to conclusions, grabbing the stake and setting out to slay the sapphic temptress. She wasn't trying to steal her away from Oz by making her feel all gay. Maybe the poor vampire had just gotten hungry.

Again.

On second thoughts, the vampire was pretty skinny. Maybe she snuck in for one more drink before heading back home. That still wasn't the best thought to have, but it was better than her having gay feelings for her.

Willow paused, actually thinking again. She really needed a way to shut her brain off when it ventured where it was not wanted. A blood-starved demon had been stealing blood from her and that was it. Then again, a sweethearted, beautiful lesbian had also been licking away at her fluids. Her cheeks flushed again and she resolved her thoughts, dropping the stake and leaving before she grabbed it again.

She needed to get out and breathe. Maybe talk to Giles about possibly setting up another barrier at her house to keep unwanted company out.

Or talk to Oz. And go on a nice, straight date.

_Gods, why am I so against sounding gay? I'm not and that's okay but being gay would also be okay, because that vampire last night was so sweet and innocent and it totally wasn't like talking to a demon. Or maybe she was a succubus in disguise. That's it. Yeah, being all gay is totally cool, but I can't be, because that was so forced on me_.

Willow paused in front of the Summers' door. She apprehensively knocked, hoping that Buffy would still be asleep. She couldn't handle being alone at the moment, and there was no way she was bringing up the gayness to Xander, and she had to get it off her chest. And Giles was too fatherly to her, and she needed a friend to know before parental figures knew. She opted to sit downstairs with Joyce until Buffy rose, or rather didn't rise. And when she eventually left, she would feel awesome, because she had tried.

Her plans decided, she greeted Joyce, asking if Buffy was home.

The older woman had a coffee mug in her hands. Willow felt her stomach rumble. Caffeine. Food. Sustenance of any sort, really, but especially caffeine. "Yeah, she just got up. Why don't you go on upstairs?"

Plan A, ruined.

Willow forced a smile onto her face, heading upstairs. Plan B crashed through the window and died on the lawn upon seeing Buffy already ready, perkily sorting through her dresser. A towel was wrapped around her slender frame, hair still dripping wet. There was just no getting a break…

She rapped lightly on the door's threshold.

Buffy glanced up, already smiling. "Hey there, Willster."

"Hey, Buff," Willow replied, noticeably less peppy. "I see we're big with the cheery today."

The Slayer spun around, smiling gleefully. "Yes, I am. I've officially become the best Slayer ever. I found seven vamps last night, killed them all, and was in bed before I died of a heat stroke."

And she slept like the dead. If the dead kicked off the sheets and attacked pillows with their drool during their sleep. "Any plans today?"

Willow seated herself on the bed, staring into the mirror Buffy was humming for.

"Nope, not really. But I'm still getting changed. Don't look if you don't want an eyeful," Buffy piped.

Embarrassment choked Willow. She stared awkwardly at the floor. My, my, what a lovely floor pattern she had. Was that the splatter of blood from where that demon disguised as a half-dead puppy had been gutted?

"There's a vampire that's been following me."

Silence filled the room. "She blonde?"

Willow nodded. "She showed up at my door and I really felt like I should invite her in and she did and–" she cut her babble off herself for the first time in ever. _And then what? She fed from me? We snuggled?_ "And she fed from me and we kinda shared the same bed."

Buffy was completely quiet.

"We need to bless the house."

"No! Buff, I think she's like Angel!" she interrupted without knowing why. "And I was wondering, you know, if you could tell if she was. By, you know, being in her presence and reading her with your Slayer abilities…" As she talked, she felt the 'Ass' neon sign floating over her head grow brighter. Lying to her best friend and betraying another.

Quiet again. Buffy held the tank top over her bare torso, staring stupidly. "She was the one who saved you?" Buffy affirmed.

Willow just nodded. "There, there was just no way I could get rid of her, you know? She's… different."

"Kinda snarky if you ask me," Buffy added. "But, if you ask me, she seemed alright."

More than alright. Willow, for one, was still alive, in the ensouled and the still-existent sense. And Tara was so gentle and quiet for a vampire. Once Willow sat down and actually talked with her, she almost felt that Tara was shy, to an extent, and just pulled her heavy vampiric weight around to scare people off. And gods, the shit she had been through… "Buff, I can't hurt her… But if you could, I dunno, tell me where she lived? So I can thank her again, since I thought I would never see her again after the little rescue?"

The Slayer paused. "No," she stated. Willow opened her mouth to protest before she was cut off again. "Will, this was a rough neighborhood. Like the kind of apartments you'd find Faith living in if _she_ went all vampy. And I don't want you seeing her too often. I mean, your own house is one thing. You could've sprung any number of traps if she tried to force anything on you. But then again, in her house, you're the guest and you're clueless. Besides, what's the best that could happen over there that you can't experience in the safety of your own home? If she wants to see you, she'll come around on her own time."

Buffy had dug Tara out of her hiding place, but certainly not on her own. She just nodded and mumbled a disappointed 'okay', hiding her intelligent smirk. Buffy wasn't the only one who knew who had dirt.

0-0-0

Plan A, Revised, of staying away from home seemed as bright as the dimly-lit interior of the underground bar. Willow glanced around uncomfortably, spying odd skin tones and horns and thousands of other bodily attachments people never had to worry about.

Willy the Snitch and his crew ran the bar on a constant basis, and the well-versed wuss was almost always the one tending the bar. He knew any of the Scoobies by name, the more destructive ones by face. He treated Buffy as a queen after a few ass-kickings, was completely terrified of Faith, and had occasionally chatted lightly with Oz. Willow, however, was not one of his patrons. "This ain't your place, sweetheart."

The Wiccan was vaguely shocked that word of her vampiric double hadn't slunk around to the bar. She found herself somewhat disappointed as well.

She tried to ignore his statement and stroll up to the bar like a badass. After a moment of awkwardly standing and staring at him, she sank into a bar stool.

The woman seated next to her lifted her face from her amber drink and glared at her. When a set of inner eyelids closed in vertically, Willow shuddered involuntarily. She glanced back up at Willy. "Guess you haven't heard of me, huh?"

He went from wiping down the counter to just sitting still, looking at her in a very offending way. "This is supposed to be an inclusive bar, but we don't really patron to milk-drinkers like yourself."

What would Buffy do? She would threaten to have that rag shoved down his throat. Instead of being all sly and dangerous, Willow beat her fists like a toddler with a tantrum against the sticky film coating the wood. "Dammit, I'm Willow Rosenberg!"

Another silence stretched on. "Who?" he asked, going back to cleaning.

"You know, Buffy's Wiccan friend who does all the dangerous magic-mojo?" she asked, raising her voice like he was hard of hearing.

Willy scoffed. "_You're_ a friend of the Slayer? I wouldn't go parading that around in here if I was you."

_Improper grammar_, Willow thought to herself. "Well, I guess I'm just that hardcore." She pretended not to notice the not-so-subtle roll of his eyes. "Willy, I heard you know where this girl of mine lives."

"Sweetheart, no one knows where the Slayer lives," he stated offhandedly. "We've scoured all the real hideouts, and we've concluded that she likely lives in the desert just a few miles that way."

"Not the friend I meant. You know, blonde, vampire. Really pretty." She felt strange admitting Tara's beauty aloud.

"You could be talking about one in a hundred in this town," Willy stated. His temper was audibly getting shorter. There was little that he himself could do, but the reptile-woman covered in tattoos and piercings next to her seemed to be a bit agitated.

Willow glanced slyly at the front door before pulling a five from her pocket and placing it on the counter, sliding it across. She kept a hand on it the entire time. "There's rewards."

"For the love of God! I can name twenty of those chicks off the top'a my head! And I get that kind of money by the second!"

Her face slowly tinged pink, but she ignored it. "Tara. She's had to have been down here at one point, because you told Buffy where she lived. She's got stunning blue eyes and her clothes are kinda tattered. And, and her hair's not really blonde, it's more of a honey-blonde, with a few darker strands in there. Buffy mentioned something about her living in a real rathole area. I don't mean to be all pushy-girl, but this is really important to me."

There was a look on Willy's face that mirrored Buffy's statement: _You will get hurt. I don't want you getting hurt_. For Willy, the concern would be having his face beaten to a bloody pulp by the Slayer of herself, but Willow still knew apprehension when she saw it.

"Look, I've got a business to run here. I'm only doing this because that little girl was infatuated with you, and I don't think she'd hurt a fly…" He began to read off Tara's address and the directions to her house. All the while, Willow just had the same thought ringing in her head… _I really _do _know how to go with the interrogations._

0-0-0

**A/N: Who's all for Willow being completely dorky with the investigations (raises hand awkwardly, then glances around and notices that no one else does, slowly lowers hand)?**

** R&R, my lovelies! Sorry for the very infrequent updates, just been busy!**


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